


a prince on lothal

by wrenstars



Series: a prince on lothal [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Alternate Universe - Luke and Leia Switched, Episode: s02e12 A Princess on Lothal, First Meetings, Fluff, Luke Organa, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-03-26 06:53:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19000612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrenstars/pseuds/wrenstars
Summary: in which luke organa arrives on lothal so the ghost crew can steal his three transports.





	a prince on lothal

The transports descend from the sky, and Ezra’s already-low spirits fall through the floor.

“Those are our reinforcements?” he exclaims, waving his hand as though they’re merely flies. “Some old _transports_?”

Kanan shoots him a pointed look. “In our position, you take what you can get, kid.”

Ezra folds his arms and scowls. Even if that’s the case, he simply cannot see how three transports can possibly be considered _reinforcements_. It’s like asking him to find meaning and the original inspiration in Sabine’s artworks―he knows it’s there, but he can’t see or understand it.

He also just doesn’t care. At least not now. If he could, he’d fall on the ground, hug his knees to his chest, and not get up for some time.

But he can sense… _something_. Something that feels like his first steps into the Jedi Temple, his first meeting with Kanan, the first time he held his kyber crystal in his hands―whatever it is, it feels important.

It’s enough to keep him interested, at least try to see how three shoddy-looking transports can aid Phoenix Squadron.

The transports land, and Kanan moves. Ezra shakes himself and trudges behind him, his steps falling a little heavier than his Master’s.

They manage to reach the transports before any other Stormtrooper. The ramp unfolds and the doors lift. Ezra sighs, waiting to greet stuffy, old agent that must’ve been assigned to their boring case―but that doesn’t happen.

Instead, a young boy descends the ramp.

He’s shorter than Ezra, though only slightly, with sandy hair the colour of a mild desert. But deserts are rough and gritty and dry, and there is nothing of the sort about this particular boy. Rather, he’s a desert flower, the most beautiful and rare of all things to be discovered there―he is delicate and his features finely carved, and even the simple clothes he wears flutter around him like elegant petals. Ezra nearly staggers when he feels the boy in the Force―there is no indication that he is Force sensitive, but he is warm. Not desert harsh, where the rays of the sun beat relentlessly, blistering and burning, but like a warm drink and thick blanket on a winter’s night, cosy and comforting and _safe_.

 _There isn’t a mean bone in this boy’s body_ , Ezra realises, blinking.  

From a distance, one may think of the boy as a typical pampered child, but time in the Rebellion has taught Ezra to see the straightness of the boy’s spine and the hard gleam to his eyes.

(Desert flowers have to grow in the hardest conditions, after all.)

The boy stops just in front of them, so Ezra has to crane his neck up significantly. No one else follows him out, a fact that makes Ezra purse his lips and clear his throat.

“Excuse me, Mr., where’s your commander?” he asks, peering over the boy’s shoulder.

Ezra is suddenly glad for the Stormtrooper helmets. If he can feel Kanan’s burning glare _through_ them, then receiving it full-on may have caused him to combust into flames. Who knows? That might’ve been another part of a Jedi’s power that Kanan hasn’t taught him yet.

The boy raises an eyebrow.

“I’ve had better welcomes from the _delightful_ Moff Tarkin,” he says dryly. “Who am I addressing, Trooper?”

“I’m Kanan,” Kanan says, before Ezra can open his mouth―which is probably the idea. “This is Ezra. We’re from Phoenix Squadron.”

The boy nods.

“I’m Bail Organa’s son, Luke. I’ve heard a lot about both of you―and I know the deck officer and all Imperials on this planet have, too.” Luke Organa jerks his head toward the group of Stormtroopers starting to head their way and grins. “Put your helmets back on and follow my lead. If we’re lucky, this should run smoothly.”

“It _should_?” Ezra repeats.

Luke shrugs. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned from politics, apart from that nearly all government officials are corrupt, is that you can never be certain about anything. Now, we have to move before this looks suspicious.”

He shifts from boy to prince as easily as changing from hunted to hunter in a game of tag: the need to play his part of the prince taps his shoulder and he straightens, lifting his chin and smoothing his features to look as mild as a spring day.

Ezra’s mouth falls agape. He feels like he’s reached for a common jogan and ended up with a rare meiloorun instead. Kanan has to tug his arm to make him moving and, even then, his eyes never leave Luke. He simply can’t look away, no matter how hard he tries―it’s an effort as impossible as ignoring gravity. It’s like Luke is a star, and Ezra is nothing but a moon who has been pulled into his orbit.

Understanding it is like trying to understand to Force. All that Ezra _does_ understand is that Luke Organa looks _incredibly_ handsome as plays the part of the prince―and that he looks _really_ cute when he acts like he’s just another boy of Ezra’s age.

Luke meets the deck officer halfway and draws to a halt, Ezra and Kanan stopping behind him.

“Greetings, deck officer,” Luke says, smiling. “If it isn’t too much of a hassle, I’d like to start distributing my relief aid as soon as possible.”

The deck officer doesn’t move.

“Stand by. My orders are to inspect the cargo for contraband and detain these vessels until the lieutenant arrives.” He gestures to the Troopers behind him as Ezra’s stomach sinks. “Scanning crew, move out.”

The crew declares affirmative and move off.

“Well, this plan’s off to a good start,” Kanan mutters, once they’re out of earshot.

Luke grins like a child whose birthday is just around the corner.

“Actually, it’s currently going perfectly,” he quips. “Ezra, Kanan, you’re part of the Ghost―now in Phoenix Squadron, yes? Where’s everyone else?”

Ezra’s mouth falls open. “You know about us?”

“Of course! I help my father when I can, and I’ve always studied your reports of your cell’s movements. Your crew is inspiring for all of us.”

Ezra imagines Luke studying reports of their missions, reading his name with those keen (and dare he say pretty?) blue eyes, possibly late into the night. He wonders if the prince’s gaze lingers before he’s forced to scrub the intel from his datapad.

His entire face― _and_ his neck―turns hot.

“They’ll be here,” Kanan confirms.

Luke beams. “Good. Then you shouldn’t have a problem stealing my ships.”

Ezra chokes.

“Prince Luke,” he stammers. “I’m sorry, I’m sure you have a plan, but― _what_?”

A shuttle flies out overhead and, after only just gracing the floor, the lieutenant and a few Stormtrooper guards exit. The energy drains from Luke like someone’s pulled the plug on him, and his shoulders slump.

“The lieutenant’s approaching,” he sighs. He sounds like he’s run a marathon and can’t be bothered moving again―though that could be fair, for Ezra’s impressions of officials and protocol is that those involved constantly talk marathons as they navigate procedure and tradition and politics. “I’ll explain later, but first, I must address the politics of my position. Follow my lead, and go along with whatever I say.”

Ezra splutters.

 _Yes, he’s handsome and is cute when playing his tactics like a game of cards he knows he’s winning_ _―but he’s hardly older than I am_!

“Why does he get to give orders?” Ezra demands, keeping his voice hushed. “ _I_ don’t get to give orders!”

Kanan sighs and bows his head.

“Do you ever listen to yourself?” he mutters, hitting Ezra lightly on the back of his head as he walks past.

Ezra folds his arms over his chest and follows. “ _Yes_ , and I happen to be very interesting.”  

 _Though_ , the rational part of his brain whispers, _Luke_ had _been born a prince while he’d grown up on Lothal’s streets. It’s not surprising he’s given leadership so easily_.

 _And he looks good doing it_ , the traitorous side adds.

Ezra gnashes his teeth. _Not helping, either of you_!

The lieutenant takes small steps. It doesn’t escape Ezra’s attention that he’s making Luke walk further to meet them than he does and, from the stiffness of Luke’s body, he knows that Luke notices, too. Still, Luke’s expression remains as amicable as a cool spring in summer, still and pleasant.

“You must be Luke Organa, Prince of the Royal House of Alderaan,” the lieutenant says.

“Correct,” Luke says, smiling. “But on this mission, I’m an aide to my father, Senator Bail Organa. I come with relief supplies for Lothal’s citizens, whose daily lives and access to resources are being affected because of the rebel activity here.” He sighs and shakes his head as though in dismay. “Coming from a peaceful and wealthy planet like Alderaan, it pains me and my father to think of others less fortunate than us suffering. Surely you won’t condemn your citizens to starvation?”

Ezra blinks. Even he can barely detect the silvertongued lie in Luke words, despite knowing the prince’s intentions. Luke is like the hearth of the home, warm and comforting, the place one goes to relax and feel the weight of the day fall from one’s shoulders, a place where only good memories are formed. His charm draws others in, chasing away any lingering chill.

Yet there’s a steel to his words, too, like weapons could be forged in that flame just as easily as it keeps others warm.

It’s admirable, really. He finds himself leaning forward, wanting to hear more.

“No, of course not,” the lieutenant says―even if it sounds like an afterthought. Ezra would’ve laughed if he’d tried to say he cared about his people as much as he cared about his career. “Lothal has indeed suffered, as has Alderaan. From what I’ve heard, your ships have an unfortunate habit of being stolen.” The lieutenant straightens. “I _assure you_ , that won’t happen on my watch.”

He signals his troops, and they run out with devices, pushing them toward Luke’s ships. Ezra frowns, tilting his head to the side.

“What’s _that_?” he murmurs.

He thought it was too low and muffled by his helmet to be heard, but Luke sends him a look out of the corner of his eye.

“ _Bad news_ ,” the prince mouths.

The devices clamp with a dull clang. It sounds an awful lot like the closing of a door, one that’s locked, cutting off their access to escape.

Luke raises both eyebrows. “ _Gravity locks_? Are you so incapable of dealing with the rebels that you must resort to these extravagant measures?”

The lieutenant smiles like he’s addressing a very young child. Ezra wants nothing more than to wipe it from his face; his spine shivers just looking at it, like it’s an ugly statue polished until it shines, but unable to hide what it truly is.

“It’s all for your peace of mind, prince,” he says, voice equally polished. “There will also be a trooper detachment and, for extra security…”

He points behind them, to two air carries, each transporting a walker. The walkers drop, along with Ezra’s heart.

“Walkers will guard your ships from the rebel insurgents.” The lieutenant puffs his chest, smirking. “Again, all for your safety, sir.”

Luke frowns as he stares back at the lieutenant.

“The proper way to address me would be _Your Highness_ , Lieutenant,” he corrects. Then he sighs, rubbing his forehead like he has a headache. “Well, I do see the necessity of these precautions, but detaining my ships _does_ affect my ability to transport my supplies.” He inspects the base with an almost lazy glance. “Your shuttle is the only other vessel here. May I use it to begin my work?”

Ezra snorts, and hastily disguises it as a coughing fit. Kanan thumps him on the back―maybe a little stronger than strictly necessary, as Ezra tilts forward a little as he does.

When he recovers, it’s to find that the proud smile has slipped from the lieutenant’s face.

“ _My_ shuttle?” he splutters. “Well, certainly I could arrange for other transportation―”

“As I’m sure you understand, lieutenant, I am busy and cannot afford to linger too long on any one world, so I _will_ require your shuttle complete my mission as soon as possible,” Luke interrupts. He nods sharply at Ezra and Kanan both, already beginning to walk away with a slack-faced lieutenant behind him. “You two, bring those supplies and escort me to the trauma area.”

It’s a good thing that Kanan is the one to respond and Ezra, as a cadet, doesn’t have to open his mouth―he’s clamping it so tightly that his jaws are beginning to ache, from the effort of keeping his laughter back. He pushes the crates with hurried steps to disguise the shaking of his shoulders. He wants to reach over and give Luke a hi-five, maybe even sling an arm around his shoulders and laugh at the stupefied expression on the lieutenant’s face―but, unfortunately, their cover doesn’t allow for that, and he settles from grinning at Luke instead.

If they hadn’t been born worlds apart, a prince and a kid raised by the streets, Ezra thinks he might’ve been good friends with him.

* * *

Luke stands in the doorway and stares at Ezra Bridger.

The other boy sits with his back to the door, a holoimage displayed in front of him. Luke can’t see the details too clearly, apart from that it depicts a man, a woman and a small child. Judging from how much the man and the woman resemble Ezra, Luke deduces that they have to be his parents.

Ezra sniffs and wipes his eyes. His shoulders are slumped, his body curled into itself like a flower in the midst of winter and desperately trying to cling to life, trying to stop the cold from claiming it. But it’s a losing battle, the empty chill creeping further and further, making the blossom shrivel a little more, withering and dying.

He’s so different to the boy Luke was introduced to just minutes ago, to the boy who had sparked small flames of rebellion across the galaxy, with his quick comebacks and easy laughter and fiery disposition. It’s as though he was pushed into a body of deep, frigid water and emerged, gasping, and swam back to the surface despite his clothes weighing him down―and only once he’s out of the water and the focus on survival has faded does it sink in how cold he is and how much he’s shivering.

The action has ended, the need to wear masks are over, and in the safety of the Ghost there are no more distractions. Only reality. Only the truth.

Only the chill that seeps through his skin, freezing him not just to the bone, but to his soul.

The boy who had inspired―and continues to inspire―so much hope in so many, in strangers, in people he’ll likely never meet, now looks hopeless.

Ezra’s words had been like fuel for Luke, who hadn’t realised he’d been running on empty for some time until he heard Ezra’s transmission, and it was a kick in his gears that gave him the extra push he’d been lacking.

To see him like this had made Luke frown. He’d wanted nothing more than to comfort Ezra like a friend when he’d come out of the cockpit with Hera, but hadn’t known if Ezra would appreciate his presence.

And as soon as he’d laid eyes on Ezra this morning he’d felt… something. Something like a gravitational pull. A magnetic field. A roaring where he is but a cold, lonely traveller.

Something that made him beg his father if he could see the reports of the Ghost’s movements, and then read them long into the night.

He still isn’t sure what it was―what it _is_ ―but it had made his heart flutter.

Whatever the kind of fire that lights Ezra Bridger is, Luke doesn’t want it to go out.

“Maybe he could use a friend,” Kanan had suggested gently, when Luke had asked if there was anything he could do.

The way Kanan’s own eyes had lingered on Ezra’s retreating back had been enough to tell Luke that the Jedi cared for Ezra like his own son.

And instead of going to him, he’d sent Luke in his place.

Luke runs a hand through his hair as his heart hammers in his chest.

He can only hope that he can help Ezra as much as Ezra’s voice and transmission has helped him.

Luke clears his throat. “Ezra Bridger, right?”

He’s a boy who’s been groomed for the senate from a young age―even if half his childhood had been spent tinkering and fixing machines and running away from carers chastising him for always been covered in engine grease―but it is now, to an audience of one, that his throat tightens. Somehow, these upcoming words feels heavier and more important than most of what he’s said in the political sphere or as a representative of Alderaan’s Royal House, and he can’t figure out why.

“Prince Luke,” Ezra responds flatly. He doesn’t turn around.

Luke hesitates and steps further into the room, walking with soft steps until he stands at Ezra’s side. He swallows. The air between them cracks with energy, like small sparks of a flame ready to be kindled into a roaring fire.

Luke rubs the back of his neck.

“You know, when I said I followed your cell, I really meant that I was following you,” he admits. He feels warmth in his cheeks and knows they’re dusted rose pink. “To see someone my age creating so much change… You’re inspiring, Ezra.”

Ezra blinks and, for the first time, tears his eyes away from the holoimage.

“You think so?” he asks, sitting a little taller in the chair. He’s breathless like he doesn’t believe it.

“I do.” Luke’s lips curl into a grin and he adds, teasingly, “And you _do_ sound interesting, by the way.”

Ezra’s mouth falls open and then he groans, throwing his back at the back of his seat. “You heard me say that?”

Luke laughs. “I did,” he says, winking. “And I’m not the only one who thinks so―so many people heard your transmission.” He hesitates. When he speaks again, his voice is softer. “Your voice has become a light in the dark for thousands, Ezra. Entire planets, even.”

And just like that, the energy fizzles out of Ezra like the last sparks of a firework―something beautiful and lively, lasting in a spurt of energy and fading all too soon. His entire body slumps back into his chair and he hangs his head.

“Yeah?” he mumbles. He looks back at the holoimage in front of him and blinks rapidly, hugging his arms close to his chest. “My parents heard it, too. But they're gone now.”

He sounds so broken and small, like he’s a vase that’s shattered and he has no idea how to even begin putting himself back together.

Luke’s heart aches for this boy, this boy he barely knows, this boy he barely knows but feels connected to anyway, whether it’s because of the strange pull or their similar ages or that they’re in such similar situations.

Luke has lived his life swaddled in blankets and soft fabrics and with delicate food on his plate―he can’t begin to think of how much Ezra has lost in his life already, how much he’s had to struggle before he even joined the Rebellion.

He’d felt like the world was falling when he was old enough to understand he was adopted, that his birth parents were dead. He’d felt so lost, like he was surrounded by fog―for how was he supposed to make his way, how was he supposed to grieve, without a clear image of who his birth parents had been?

Luke reaches out to touch Ezra’s shoulder but hesitates. His hand falls back to his side.

“I'm sorry,” he murmurs instead. “I know what it’s like to lose family.”

Ezra frowns. “But you said that your father―”

“I’m adopted,” Luke interjects quickly. He tugs at the ends of his sleeves but still smiles, hoping that action covers any cracks and wards off the need for sympathy. He doesn’t need it. “Bail and Breha are the only parents I’ve ever known, and I love them as though they are my own. I’m even following in my father’s footsteps into politics. I want to be able to do _some_ good in the world and to help others in need, to fight for the right of other people, but when we live on an Imperial planet with the threat of the Empire looming over us…” Luke sighs. He looks at the floor and scuffs it with the toe of his boots. “I feel like I could be doing _more_ ,” he admits, his voice small. “I don’t feel like I’m doing enough, and I _hate_ it. It makes me feel trapped. But your message―”

He looks at Ezra directly in the eye.

“It’s started something, Ezra,” he whispers. His voice is quiet, but sharp and strong and demanding to be heard. “Some, like your parents, may have died because of it. But for others, like me, it was encouragement when we needed it most, a hand that saved us from drowning in despair. And we’re only going to keep growing. We _will_ see the Empire overthrown, and we _will_ avenge your parents, and everyone else the Empire has taken from us.”

Ezra reels back like he’s been slapped and stares at Luke, wide-eyed and his lips slightly parted, almost as though Luke is a star that’s flickered into existence to guide him home. He shakes his head.

“You have so much faith,” he says, quietly awed. “How do you do it? You’ve been in the Rebellion so much longer than I have―haven’t you ever felt like giving up? Have you ever wondered this will ever be worth it?”

Luke smiles.

“I’ve had those thoughts many times, almost too many. But, just like you said, we can’t back down just because we’re afraid. Sometimes, you need something good to hold onto, or everything feels too difficult.”

“And what is that? Your vision?”

Ezra leans forward, genuinely curious.

Luke hums and glances outside. They fly steadily through the clouds like they have all the time in the world, as though the Empire won’t be deploying all their resources to ‘rescue’ him, as though they hadn’t just been in a battle just hours ago. Maybe for them the battle had been ordinary, a part of fighting on the frontlines, but Luke knows his battles are to be fought with words instead of blasters. He’s a rebel, proudly part of the Rebellion, but he hopes he doesn’t have to engage in battle too often.

He isn’t made for blood and death.

And there’s only so much war the galaxy can take―they just need to look to Mandalore for an example.

“A peaceful galaxy,” he says quietly, “Where democracy reigns instead of tyranny, and the Empire’s banner is no longer forced to hang over any planet. Where we use our words to make decisions, not blasters or credits, where laws are passed for the benefit of the people, not credits in a politician’s back pocket. A family, happy, without fear of war tearing them apart, and a long life in front of all of them. That’s my vision.” He smiles sheepishly. “I know, it’s unrealistic, my parents often tell me I’m an idealist―”

“I don’t see anything wrong with that,” Ezra says, brows furrowing. “It might not seem possible… But you shouldn’t not try, right? I didn’t think I could ever hope to be a Jedi before Kanan told me he believed in me.”

Luke blinks.

No one has ever responded to him like that before. Most of the time, people gently talk him down, tell him not to get his hopes up and that he’s setting himself up for disappointment, like he’s a child that doesn’t know the difference between dreams and reality.

No one has ever just _accepted_ it.

Luke’s heart skips a beat. He brushes his hair out of his face―even though it currently isn’t bothering him.

“Well… may I ask what your vision is, then?” he asks Ezra.

Ezra frowns.

“I’m not sure,” he says slowly. “When I was living on the streets, it wasn’t exactly something I had the luxury of considering. Then I got caught up in the Rebellion, and now…” He shrugs. “But I’m starting to think that my vision involves justice. The Empire brought to account for the crimes they’ve committed. And the people, once always at risk, protected by their government instead of threatened by it.” Once again he meets Luke’s eyes. “I want to protect those people and that image.”

“Then you must _fight for it_ , Ezra,” Luke insists, stepping closer. “Your parents died fighting for that vision, because that is what they believed in. We all have to make difficult choices if it means standing up for what is right.”

Ezra gapes at him.

“But you're a _prince_ ,” he stammers, gesturing to Luke’s entirety. “You don't have to risk your life doing this.”

Luke nods. “You’re right. I don’t have to. I live a comfortable life, I’m not wanting for anything, and I have privileges most can only dream of, and enough security to live out the rest of my life and ignore how others are suffering. It’s the kind of life that most desire, and that most would consider me silly for risking every day.” Luke lifts his chin. “But because of those privileges I have a _voice_ , and so many others do not. Because I can fight, I believe that I have to, for those who cannot.” He smiles at Ezra, softening. “And I think you might be the same way.”

Ezra bites his lip and looks back to the holoimage. He reaches his hand out, fingers just shy of brushing the woman’s cheek. There’s longing in his eyes, such incredible _longing_ , that Luke finds himself yearning, too.

Then he shuts the image off and spins the seat around, jumping out of it. He looks to Luke and nods, the hint of a grin on his lips. “Let's figure out a way to get your ships.”

Luke beams.

“That’s the spirit,” he quips. He jerks his head in the direction of the others. “Come on, I bet they’re unable to come up with a plan without us.”

Ezra snorts. “I wouldn’t be surprised.” He hesitates, drumming his fingers on the back of the seat before blurting, “Thank you, Prince Luke.”

His cheeks darken as he speaks.

A warm, comforting rush passes through Ezra, warming his heart and his toes―it’s a feeling not unlike that time he snuck into the kitchens when he was younger and ate an entire plate of sweet pastries, savouring the sweetness on his tongue and feeling their sugary warmth flood his entire body.

He smiles at Ezra and closes the distance between them, so when they walk, their arms almost brush.

“You’re welcome, Ezra.”

* * *

Jalath is, quite simply, in _chaos_.

Ezra grins as he surveys the area. Two of Luke’s three ships are gone, both walkers are down, and the Stormtroopers run like wild Loth-cats around the base while the lieutenant shouts in a wild-eyed frenzy.

The once-flawless image of the Empire’s strength has shattered and they are scavenging, trying to place to pieces back to a somewhat respectful picture, while Ezra and his team continue to point out its flaws and make the cracks even larger.

The attack on the Jalath platform had been like a game of connecting the dots, first nothing more than a collection of black spots that were garbled and made no sense. But when one connection had been made, another had followed, to the vague shape of an image, until it was complete and they had their plan resolved.

The image isn’t just clear on paper, but in reality, too: the others have escaped, the Imperial defences in ruins, and the transports in their control.

Now Ezra is the only one left on the surface.

Ezra scrambles to his feet and darts to the final transport. No Stormtroopers bar his way to the ship’s ramp, and soon the sound of his footsteps change from muffled thuds to ringing clangs as he runs up the metal.

He pauses at the top. There’s a faint whisper in the back of his head, the quiet promise of something coming.

Kanan’s been teaching him long enough that Ezra knows ignoring that whisper is a mistake.

Luke runs toward him, his golden hair bouncing around his face like a sun-illuminated cloud. He’s not the only one dressed in white―the Stormtroopers, of course, are nothing _but_ white―yet somehow Luke manages to make it look like an entirely different shade to whatever the Empire dons their soldiers in. Instead of the sharp, unnatural white that makes Ezra think of the medical bay walls and the sharp tang of bacta, Luke looks like he’s bathed in moonlight and glows like the angels of Iago.

He’s barely been able to look away from Luke since they walked out to meet the others together. He’s been captivated by Luke’s words, his strength and his passion, and his witty humour and the way a few quick words sends Imperials scrambling and stumbling around him. He’s courageous and he’s pretty and his mere presence is enough to push Ezra just a little bit further.

(He’d tried to impress Luke by using the Force to summon Stormtrooper blasters―and had ended up on his butt with the blasters surrounding him and his cheeks flaming red and Luke having to save _him_.

His cheeks had turned even hotter at that.)

Ezra’s breath catches in his throat. He should back away, should make it into the transport so they can leave, but his eyes follow Luke. He feels like the Force is holding him in place, for no matter how many times he tells himself to move he simply _can’t_ , and can only remain frozen as Luke reaches the ramp, as he climbs up it, as he draws so close Ezra can see the splatter of freckles across his nose like tiny grains of sand, but so much nicer. They look like Sabine had painted them on, the final touches of a masterpiece.

Luke stops just in front of him, leaving barely any space between their bodies. Ezra swallows. It’s like a poorly planned hyperspace jump, the distance short but with unnecessary twists, leaving them hanging a moment too long. His helmet warms his head too much and his Stormtrooper armour is too heavy, too tight around his head, to high around his neck.

He feels like he’s on an unfamiliar planet and has no idea where to turn. He wants to look to Kanan for guidance, but right now, he’s all alone.

Ezra plasters a wicked, wry grin on his face, something to cover the cracks beginning to show underneath.

“Time for me to go,” he quips.

Luke says nothing, but continues to stare at Ezra with his bright blue eyes. Luke’s eyes are like the summer sky, bright and vibrant, the type of sky that lets ships and birds soar, that helps them on their way.

In Luke’s eyes, Ezra can see freedom and flight and possibility.

In Luke’s eyes, he can see hope.

Luke steps closer until their bodies are nearly touching. Ezra’s mouth turns dry. He feels like a desert, and Prince Luke Organa is his only oasis.

“Prince Luke―”

Luke wraps a hand around Ezra’s wrist.

Ezra gasps.

The touch burns, even more so than whenever Sabine pats his shoulder. Ezra call feel himself burning, feels his body screaming at him to flinch and retract his hand at once, but his body is numb and he can’t get it to do anything.

And there something more―it’s like filling a crack in the wall he hadn’t realised was there, joining hands after a long debate, it’s cleaning a messy room and seeing everything fall into place and finding long-lost belongs.

It’s all of that, and so more.

For a moment, all they do is stare at each other.

Then Luke begins to struggle, yanking hard on Ezra’s arms and dragging him toward the edge of the ramp.

“Wait!” Ezra blurts, the sudden movements shaking him back to reality. He plans his feet stronger and pulls back, freeing one of his arms. “What are you _doing_?”

Luke snatches his hand again and looks over his shoulder.

“Lieutenant!” he barks. “Troopers! Are you going to do _anything_ about this rebel stealing my transport or do _I_ have to do it _myself_?”

Luke turns back to Ezra and pulls him forward, hard, until their faces are so close Ezra can feel the prince’s breath on his face. Unseen to the Empire, Luke’s lips stretch into a wide, sharp smile.

“Make it look good,” he quips.

Ezra eyes widen.

“ _Oh_ ,” he says, chuckling, “Right! We gotta make this look good!”

He’s already grinning, laughter bubbling on the edge of his lips and threatening to spill. Luke returns the gesture and emulates staggering back as though Ezra had pushed him.

Ezra bites his lip so he doesn’t call Luke back; he feels Luke’s departure instantly like he’s been tossed into space.

“You have my permission, Ezra,” Luke says, winking.

Ezra smirks. “See ya later, Prince Luke.”

Luke smiles.

“Please,” he says. Ezra can only just hear him above the chaos that still surrounds them. “Next time, just call me Luke.”

Ezra blinks.

“Luke,” he echoes.

Luke’s name is like honey and sweet meiloorun on his lips, sweet and rich and, for a moment, all he ever wants to say again. It’s too much, more than he can afford, but it’s something he’ll save up for or steal, just for the opportunity to say it again.

Luke sends the slightest of nods, still smiling. Ezra raises his weapon and smirks as he sends a stun blast Luke’s way, and the Prince of Alderaan crumples to the ground.

Ezra’s heart lurches into his throat. Luke had fallen so easily―did he hurt himself? Did he hit his head? Would he wake with a pounding headache? He steps forward, hand outstretched to the blond prince, and he thinks that he might’ve ended up crouched by Luke’s side if not for the shouts of the Stormtroopers. One look at the incoming troopers and Ezra ducks behind the corner, just as blaster shots splatter against the transport’s walls.

Ezra looks at Luke once last time before he shuts the door behind him.

The transport rumbles underneath his feet and launches into the sky. For the first time in over a year, Ezra’s stomach rises and he stumbles into a wall. He leans against the metal, swallowing back the unease in his stomach, and then he sprints for the nearest window.

He presses himself again it, squashing his nose, his breath fogging the glass. He wipes it, scowling, but it changes nothing―they are too far up to see Luke again. His shoulders slump and he sags against the window.

“Karabast,” he mutters to himself.

He feels like he’s left something important behind.

* * *

The lieutenant is floundering, tripping over every word that spills from his mouth and barking orders at the remaining Stormtroopers, trying to find someone to sort out this mess and arrange transportation for Prince Luke Organa _as soon as possible_. It’s a mess, almost more chaotic than the battle that had just taken place.

It takes all of Luke’s self-control not to burst out laughing in the midst of it all. He clasps his hands behind his back to try and maintain some kind of propriety expected of his station.

While the Imperials run themselves ragged, Luke stands in the middle of the station, staring at the stars as though he’s stargazing on Alderaan and hasn’t just come out of a battle.

Or, more specifically, he stares at the place Ezra had disappeared.

He feels like he’s misplaced something important―and has felt like that since Ezra left his side. It’s like Ezra took the moon with him when he left, and now the tides have stopped rising.

Being around Ezra was like breathing a lungful of fresh air. As much as he loves Alderaan, the routines and the etiquette can get tiring―there’s an itch to his skin that refuses to leave, and itch that leads him to the getting immersed in an engineering problem or

Those things had distracted him, sure―but remained distractions, and had never been enough.

But Ezra Bridger had soothed that itch.

Maybe it had been Ezra’s easy smile or the banter he shared with his team, or perhaps his enthusiasm and eagerness and excitement. Maybe it had been that Ezra looked at him and didn’t seem to instantly just think of him as a prince, but someone else his age.

Luke had felt free with Ezra by his side. Being with him was like watching an old dream, an old voice inside his head, finally materialising beside him and being given form.

Fighting alongside him had felt natural, like it was meant to be.

(And Ezra’s Force move _had_ impressed Luke, even if it hadn’t been successful.

He wonders if he should try and find a way to tell Ezra this.)

Luke unclasps his hands and touches the place on his wrist Ezra’s fingers had curled around. To him, the skin still feels warm, and he can feel the ghost of Ezra’s hand over it.

Luke smiles.

“May the Force be with you, Ezra Bridger,” he murmurs.

He can only that this isn’t the last time he will ever see the young Jedi.

**Author's Note:**

> you know that early stage of attraction, where someone merely being pretty is enough to make you flush and just a few interactions makes you nervous? Iu’s so precious and GOD, skybridger respectively feeling that attraction makes me WEAK. what kids 
> 
> i hope the force connection wasn’t too little or too much! i didn’t want it to feel like ezra and luke were only attracted to each other because of the force, but i also just can’t imagine a world where these two collide and they DON’T feel any sort of connection through the force at all. they both have such huge roles to play in the world of star wars, and even as an organa, luke would be key to winning the war. i can just hear it scream at them, honestly. i was trying to go for something subtle, but you could also tell it was THERE.
> 
> god i love these two so much they make me so weak.


End file.
